Competition

In Competition No. 2933 you were invited to submit a blurb for a misery memoir. Thanks to Tom Dulake for suggesting this excellent challenge. The winners would be worthy occupants of what some bookshops call the ‘Painful Lives’ section, which service the reading public’s appetite for ever more harrowing accounts of extreme suffering. Unsure whether to congratulate or commiserate with the miserabilists below, I award the bonus fiver to W.J.Webster; the rest take £25 each. Slow Drags the Harrow is Len Sprague’s fearless account of a life survived through sheer unyielding endurance. When he was seven his mother was convicted of poisoning his brutally sadistic father.

In Competition No. 2932 you were invited to submit up to 16 lines of verse that are the fruit of a collaboration between two poets. This week’s brief was open to interpretation. Some of you submitted centos (poems comprised of lines from existing poems); others imagined a pair of poets co-writing a new work incorporating the styles and/or themes of both and elements of existing poems. Some match-made poets with similar preoccupations; others saw the attraction in opposites. It was a clever and engaging entry and narrowing it down to just six was a protracted and painful process. The following would have been worthy winners had there only been more space: W.J. Webster, Katie Mallett, David Silverman, Alanna Blake, G.M. Southgate, Martin John, G.M.

In Competition No. 2931 you were invited to submit a psychiatric report on a well-known figure in literature. Shakespearean characters featured strongly in the entry, but it was children’s books that provided the most fertile hunting ground. Pretty much all of the inhabitants of Hundred Acre Wood — and of Wonderland — found themselves on the shrink’s couch, as did Mr Toad (bipolar); William Brown (ADHD; gender/body dysmorphia); and Rupert Bear (Asperger’s). Honourable mentions go to Amanda Nicholson, Julia Pickles, Alan Millard and Alanna Blake, but D.A. Prince is star performer this week and is rewarded with the bonus fiver. Her fellow winners earn £30.

In Competition No. 2930 you were invited to submit up to 16 lines of macaronic verse. A dictionary of poetic terms will tell you that macaronic is a verse form popularised by Teofilo Folengo, a Mantuan monk, which uses a mixture of languages, normally with a comic or satirical intent. I prefer E.O. Parrott’s elegant definition: ‘a school of poetry which originated in the polyglot eating houses of Trieste’. French was the most popular second language; Latin and German followed closely behind. Polish, Greek, Russian and Swahili also made fleeting appearances (hallelujah for Google Translate). It was a smallish field but there was much to admire. Frederick Robinson, Frank Upton, Jerome Betts, Frank -McDonald and Bill Greenwell all deserve a round of applause.

In Competition No. 2929 you were invited to submit an acrostic poem containing some predictions for the next decade, in which the first letters of the lines read NOSTRADAMUS. Although the forecast was bleak — no surprise there — a welcome smattering of more left-field prophecies made me sit up and take notice: Richard Dawkins finds God; A and Z amicably switch; Durham’s new bishop wins Miss UK; the Chilcot report is met with universal approval. Commiserations to near-winners Sam Gwynn, G.M. Southgate, Brian Allgar, Katie Mallett and Alan Millard. Those that just beat them to it are printed below and earn £15 each; the bonus fiver belongs to Bill Greenwell. Neuter genders are declared at birth; Oceans empty, seasides are extended;   Skinny’s out.

In Competition No. 2928 you were invited to submit a thank-you letter for a particularly unenjoyable Christmas visit to relatives that manages to be diplomatic but deters them from ever inviting you again. You produced a catalogue of seasonal torture that had me squirming in my judging throne: uncomfortable blow-up beds; minimal central heating; lecherous uncles; interminable Trivial Pursuit sessions; 2,000-piece jigsaws (‘all week spent on that dried-up river-bed from central Africa’ — Jeremy Carlisle); unpalatable vegan food; homemade celery, nettle and parsnip (mulled!) wine. And so it went on. There was nice work all round, but high fives in particular to William Casement, J.C.H. Mounsey, Andrew Currie and Frances Hawxwell, who were unlucky losers.

In Competition No. 2927 you were invited to submit a Christmas carol written in the style of a writer of your choice. Albert Black’s ‘Once in Royal David’s City’ by way of Will Self raised a seasonal smile: ‘Erstwhile in posh Dave’s municipality/ Upraised a plebeian bovid shack…’ As did George Simmers, who imagined Allen Ginsberg’s ‘Christmas Howl’: ‘Ommm … I have seen ecstatic visions of Noddy Holder, and of King Wenceslas riding naked upon a reindeer…’ The winners take £35 and Sylvia Fairley nabs the festive fiver. Merry Christmas, and thank you, veterans and newcomers alike, for all your inventive, witty and well-made entries. Keep ’em coming.

In Competition No. 2926 you were invited to submit a poem about HS2. The idea for this challenge came to me as I was listening on YouTube to W.H. Auden’s poem ‘Night Mail’, which he wrote to accompany a section of the terrific 1936 documentary about the London to Glasgow Postal Special directed by Basil Wright and Harry Watt (who described Auden as looking like a ‘half-witted Swedish deckhand’). Not altogether surprisingly, the tone of the entry was less celebratory than Auden’s, with the notable exception of Carolyn Thomas-Coxhead’s prize-winning submission, written in MacGonagallese. Her fellow victors are rewarded with £30 apiece and George Simmers snaffles the extra fiver.

In Competition No. 2925 you were invited to submit a short story entitled ‘The Winter’s Tale’. There were lots of references to Shakespeare’s play in the entry and to judge by its somewhat sombre mood most of you agree with Mamillius’ assertion that ‘A sad tale’s best for winter…’. Those printed below earn their authors £25. Frank McDonald takes the bonus fiver. Herding sheep is boring, so when a party of rich folk pass it is big news. Jude, the world’s best joker, cheekily enquired where they were headed and was given a courteous and surprising reply. They had presents for the new prince and wanted directions to the palace.

In Competition No. 2924 you were invited to submit a ‘love scene’ from a novel that dampens rather than boosts the reader’s libido. It was a cracking entry, so I’ll keep it brief to make space for as many winners as possible. Dishonourable mentions go to Peter Goulding, Sergio Michael Petro, Margaret Timbrell and Ann Drysdale. The winners take £25 each. George Simmers nabs the bonus fiver. Their gazes met longingly above their mugs of Freetrade herbal tea. Shyly, he offered a proforma document affirming consent to sexual intercourse. She signed it with an eager flourish. Quickly, they both undressed, taking care not to make any remarks that might be taken as objectifying the other’s body. They embraced.

In Competition No. 2923 you were invited to describe an everyday object, in verse, from the point of view of a Martian. James Fenton coined the term Martian to describe the work of poets such as Craig Raine and Christopher Reid, whose poems cast familiar objects in an unfamiliar light. In his 1979 poem ‘A Martian Sends a Postcard Home’ Raine describes books, or ‘caxtons’ as he calls them, as ‘mechanical birds with many wings/ and some are treasured for their markings —/ they cause the eyes to melt/ or the body to shriek without pain...’ This was a challenging comp. Children are well suited to writing Martian but it’s trickier for adults with their more fully formed view of the world.

In Competition No. 2922 you were invited to invent new garments and provide definitions. Thanks to the reader who, inspired by the emergence of the ‘slanket’, the ‘cardi-gown’ and the ‘onesie’, suggested this excellent comp. It has been claimed that we have Sir Winston Churchill to thank for the onesie, which can be traced back to his siren suit. Britain’s wartime leader designed this all-in-one with practical considerations in mind, but ended up with quite a collection in a variety of colours, patterns and fabrics. He once wore one to the White House, and so impressed the president’s wife that she said she was having one made for her husband. Both Brian Murdoch and W.J.

In Competition No. 2921 you were invited to write a clerihew about a fictional character. The clerihew is a comic four-line (AABB) biographical poem characterised by metrical irregularity and awkward rhyme. The first line is often the subject’s name. Or, to put it another way: E.C. Bentley Quite accidently Invented this form of wit, And this is it. (Anon) Here is another Bentley-inspired clerihew, this one written by Michael Curl: E.C. Bentley Mused while he ought to have studied intently; It was this muse That inspired clerihews. There was much to applaud in an entry full of wit and whimsy. Those printed below fought off stiff opposition to bag £8 per clerihew. Crow didn’t want it so. Given another chance he wouldn’t choose to be muse to Ted Hughes. D.A.

In Competition No. 2920 you were invited to submit an extract from a novel written by a rock star of your choosing. I was pleased that Adrian Fry went for Tom Waits, whose storytelling genius shines out on the likes of the grimly hilarious ‘Frank’s Wild Years’. But as Morrissey’s recent stinker demonstrates, being able to write decent song lyrics doesn’t guarantee literary success. Gerda Roper, Mark Shelton and C.J. Gleed were unlucky losers. The winners pocket £25 each. Bill Greenwell takes the bonus fiver. You know what it is to go thru the body of the beast, right? The heart, the crimson muscle, beating around you with soft & universal lamentations? All right, we shall go on. Into the blue mists, the territory of the Egyptian newt.

In Competition No. 2919 you were invited to write a poem that begins with the first line or two lines of a well-known poem but then takes off in a new and unexpected direction. It was an exceptionally crowded field this week and the winners below fought off strong competition to take £20 each. Basil Ransome-Davies pockets the bonus fiver. What is this life if, full of care, We’ve skid marks in our underwear Like script on cabalistic scrolls To trace the passage of our souls? The chthonic streaks, the karmic smears Stir to the surface latent fears Of Hell for acolytes of sleaze Who stain their pristine BVDs. To crack these runic secrets might Disclose an everlasting night, A sulphuretted pit of doom, The horror in the laundry room.

In Competition No. 2918 you were invited to submit a poem composed entirely of three-letter words. ‘This is the most difficult comp you have set and has driven me mad!’ said Adrian Fry. It was a nasty assignment, I admit, but it could have been so much worse. Take John Fuller’s wonderful poem ‘The Kiss’: not only is it made up entirely of three-letter words; it also has three words per line in three three-line stanzas. Given the potentially dispiriting technical nature of the challenge, I was surprised by both the number of entries and the standard (high). There was a lot of skill and wit on show and it was unusually difficult to separate submissions into winners and losers.

In Competition No. 2917 you were invited to submit a reply from Andrew Marvell’s coy mistress. Marvell’s mix of cajoling wit and harsher truths failed to persuade the Australian (male) poet A.D. Hope. Here’s an extract from his blistering reply, ‘His Coy Mistress to Mr Marvell’, published in 1978: Had you addressed me in such terms And prattled less of graves and worms, I might, who knows, have warmed to you; But, as things stand, must bid adieu The contemporary American poet Annie Finch wasn’t having any of it either. Her equally stinging riposte begins: ‘Sir, I am not a bird of prey:/ a Lady does not seize the day.

In Competition No. 2916 you were invited to recast a well-known scene from literature to reflect the fact that its author has signed a sponsorship deal with a well-known brand. The Mad Hatter’s Tea Party provided the perfect platform for Mr Kipling; Sydney Carton’s execution was the ideal shop window for Sabatier and Brooks of Sheffield; and Lady Macbeth cracked open the Wet Ones. The winners take £25 each. George Simmers pockets the bonus fiver.   She watched Mellors take the kettle from the stove and warm the pot. He was a small man, yet wiry, and strong, and opened a packet of McVitie’s chocolate digestives with one forceful gesture. With infinite delicacy, he then offered the biscuits as they were, in the packet.

In Competition No. 2915 you were invited to submit limericks featuring a well-known artist and a destination of your choice. This challenge was spawned by a limerick Robert Conquest wrote about Paul Gauguin: When Gauguin was visiting Fiji He said things are different here, e.g. While Tahitian skin Calls for tan spread on thin You must slosh it on here with a squeegee.  Brian Allgar penned this response: Mr Conquest, your limerick’s cheaty — Stop writing mendacious graffiti! In Fiji? What rot, For the tropical spot Where Paul Gauguin arrived was Tahiti.  It was a record-breaking entry size-wise and there was oodles of wit, skill and originality on display (though I lost count of the number of times ‘Giotto’ was rhymed with ‘blotto’).

In Competition No. 2914 — which was inspired by a speech given by the late Sir Keith Joseph in which he said that the government was trying to ‘Bennboozle’ the country — you were asked to submit coinages inspired by today’s politicians, supplying full dictionary definitions and illustrative examples of their use. As is often the case with this sort of competition, many of you were thinking along similar lines. Charles Curran, Barry Baldwin and R.M. Goddard all coined harmanise though with varying definitions, and kendalliance and corbynate also cropped up several times. I liked Basil Ransome-Davies’s faragiste (a chancer or failed opportunist, one who does not live up to his own publicity); D.A.